Everything
by Harpie138
Summary: Two different people living in two different worlds. How could their fates coincide so destructively, yet so perfectly? JxL


To all my reviewers from my last Red Eye story, I thank you. Like I said, I will be deleting that one if I haven't done so already. Consider that one practice. Also, like I promised, this fiction will be much better, less choppy, longer chapters and a much more explanatory plot, if you're lucky. 

Disclaimer: I own none of the affiliations of Red Eye, just the plot of this story!

Rating: M for mature themes involving Violence, Language, and Sexual content. What's not to love?

Summary: Two different people living in two different worlds. How could their fates coincide so destructively, yet so perfectly? This story weaves a tale about two people, both from different pasts and headed for different futures could somehow meet in a realm where dark and light are intertwined in a perfect circle.

XxXxX

It was night. Lisa Reisert looked down at the open book hoisted onto her pillow, contemplating the last paragraph of the entry she just wrote.

I didn't win. Even though he's in the hospital for the wounds I inflicted upon him, Jack brought out emotions in me that I never knew existed. I've lost sleep, cried and even smiled at the thought of the events that took place that night on the Red Eye from Houston. It makes me wonder if Jack would be a different person if-

If what? This is where her train of thought left the station. She only thought of his demeaning nick-name in her journal, but was it any worse or better than him calling her Leese? For some reason, she couldn't decide if she cringed or smiled inside when he called her that. She hated it at first, but it became normal, almost like protocol and even almost sensual.

No, that's impossible. Jackson Rippner wasn't anything but hate, anger, and turmoil. Or was he? Lisa hated second guessing herself, but when it came to thinking of Jack, that's all she seemed to do. Even about that encounter in the enclosed and very claustrophobic airline bathroom, she was terrified, but almost got some sort of rush from it. She couldn't explain it, but she couldn't help thinking that circumstances could or would have been different had Jack not been a murderer.

Hastily, Lisa pushed those thoughts from her mind, determined that they were nothing. She closed the book and put it neatly back in its place in the drawer attached to her nightstand. She turned off her bedside light, pulled the covers up past her shoulders and fell into a dreamless sleep.

XxXxX

The next morning, Jackson was already raising havoc in the Hospital.

"Don't you understand, lady! I don't need a fucking IV. I've been in this god forsaken hospital for three weeks! Don't you think my throat would have healed my now! I can stomach some fucking Jell-o, ya' know."

The nurse on Duty cowered under his ice blue stare, which could change from sour to sweet at the drop of a hat. "Sir, that doesn't mean you can pull out your own IV. You need to see a doctor before-"

"Listen, you, I don't need a doctor to tell me what to do," by now, blood was streaming down his arm from his forced pull-out of the IV. He looked down, startled at the sight of the blood. "Aw, come on! Will someone please do their job and get me a fucking band-aid! For Christ's sake!" He tried to wipe the blood from his arm, but to no avail, the blood kept on flowing, and Jackson was pissed as ever. He tromped back to his room, where he began to rummage through some drawers to find a band-aid. When he found one, he released the pressure of his finger from the wound (he was doing this one-handed) and quickly sealed the band-aid over it. He then went into the bathroom to wash the blood from his hands.

After doing so, Jackson jumped back at the sight of his own reflection, not expecting to see a mirror there. His blue eyes were reflexively narrowed and his lips were pursed into a semi-frown, still pissed off from the nurse encounter and his intentional blow-up.

"Handsome devil," he said, then turned his mouth up into a playful smirk.

From behind him, he heard someone clear their throat. He whipped around, only to find his doctor, Dr. Sanchez looking up (for he was quite short) at him and holding up a yogurt. "Would you like to stomach this?"

Two yogurts, some jell-o, and a pint of ice cream later, Jackson Rippner was back where he started, having thrown up the contents of his not yet healed stomach. He rolled his eyes as the student nurse struggled to find a vein in his forearm, for he was back on the IV. This time he didn't put up a fight because he spent almost a half-hour hugging porcelain and heaving contents that tasted the same coming up as they did going down.

He then turned his head when there was a knock on the door. Dr Sanchez stood in the doorway.

"Mister Rippner, you have a visitor,"

Jackson's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Who the hell is it?"

The doctor looked at his clipboard, "Apparently, it's your attempted murderer."

Jackson's eyes widened in shock. No, it couldn't be her, not Lisa. . .

Doctor Sanchez motioned for the nurse to exit with him. She unwrapped the latex band from Jackson's arm, giving up on the IV for now, while she and Dr. Sanchez left the room, Leaving a frightened looking Lisa Reisert in their wake.

XxXxX

They were fighting again.

An 11-year-old Jackson cried silently to himself as he pulled the covers over his head to drown out the screaming. Nothing made since to him anymore, not even his own family.

"Please stop. . ." he sobbed into his pillow, "Why can't they stop. . ."

Suddenly he sat bolt upright in bed and said , "Stop it." They continued.

"Stop it." He said a little louder. The yelling didn't cease. He then screamed at the top of his lungs, "STOP IT!"

All at once the yelling had postponed itself. He heard the heavy footsteps of his drunken father head toward his room. Jackson pulled the covers over his head as light shone into the room from the door that had just been flung open. He pulled the covers off his head. In the doorway stood his father, a tall dark-haired man in his late thirties whose middle had seen much better days. Soon following behind him was a beautiful blonde woman in her early thirties. She looked worn down, but even in the darkness, you could see her piercing blue eyes looking at Jackson's identical ones with a mixture of anger and sadness. She whipped her head toward Jackson's father.

"See, you woke up the kid," she said with much more courage in her voice than what showed on her face.

"Shut up, you fucking bitch," he slurred, then back handed her in the face. She didn't say anything but took the abuse, as if it was something she was used to.

"Leave her alone!" Jackson yelled. By now he had jumped from his bed, his bare feet frozen where he stood.

His father looked in his direction, meeting his glare. A blue-on-brown battle silently occurred for a total of about three seconds, when his father advanced on him, the hidden pistol poised in his hand ready to fire. There was a shot, then Jackson fell to the ground, and everything went black.

XxXxX

How do you like it? Good? Bad? Extremely irrational? Review me your opinions. Oh, and for all you fans wondering where the M rating comes in, it comes in later.

Cheerio

Vee


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